


Fortitude

by C_D_Wofford



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fastandfurious, Intense, blowingoffsteam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25205455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_D_Wofford/pseuds/C_D_Wofford
Summary: Based in season 14, episode 17 "Game Night". Donatello has been kidnapped and poisoned by Nick, and Dean brings him back to the bunker for questioning. Sam is NOT happy, and Dean is worried he will compromise their chance at rescuing the prophet. But just maybe, the reader can help provide an outlet for all that pent-up intensity. A peek at what might have happened if the reader had been in the right place at the right time.
Relationships: Sam Winchester/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Fortitude

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya guys! I know it's been a hot minute since I posted. This isn't the kind of thing I usually post, -a bit more graphic- so regular readers beware. This is a quick one-shot I wrote as a gift for my bestie, and she seemed to enjoy it. She gave me permission to post it up here, so I hope you guys enjoy it too! Sorry, I'm a bit rusty, so any constructive comments are greatly appreciated! Stay safe out there guys, and enjoy! Hope this brightens your day. ;)

Dean- Donny nowhere to be found, choking on thallium in a basement somewhere on Nick’s live-feed. 

You adjusted your seat on the barstool in the bunker kitchen where you were finally sitting down to a well-deserved sandwich to pull your vibrating phone out of your back pocket and check the texts. Your eyes widened a little as your eyebrows traveled up your forehead. 

“Well damn,” you murmured softly, texting back. 

Y/N- Nick?!

Dean- The one and only. Bringing him back for questioning.

You put the phone down face up on the counter as you chewed thoughtfully. Nick. Satan’s old homeboy. The bastard was bad news with a capital B. Nick kind of fascinated you, honestly...in a morbid, probably unhealthy type of way. But if he was one thing, it was unpredictable. The man was devilishly clever, a threat no matter what the situation. Everyone was going to have to keep their guard up if he was coming to the bunker. 

You jumped as Sam came into the kitchen, dumping his plate in the sink with surprising force for the usually more conscientious Winchester brother. It shattered, and he stood stock still for a moment, staring down at it before snatching a towel from the range to start gathering the shards up out of the sink. His movements were quick and sharp, a good deal less careful than they could be, his jaw ticking...you noticed the tense, restless roll of his shoulders every few seconds. He was pissed. 

“I guess they told you, huh?” you ventured. “I’m about to go triple check everything in the dungeon before they get here. You can’t be too careful.” 

Your attempt at conversation rolled off his broad shoulders without a sign he’d even heard you. One of the plate shards in the sink nicked the side of his hand as he was cleaning, but besides a vehement curse under his breath he ignored the fresh little rivulet of blood. 

“Samuel…”

Your special name for him had a little more effect, and his angry movements slowed enough so his clattering around wouldn’t drown out what you were going to say. He glanced up at you...wow, he was angry. His eyes were breathtaking. 

“Samuel, we’re going to keep him under control. We’ll get Donatello back. He’s just a man now, we’ll manage him this time.”

Sam’s dark chuckle sent a shiver down your spine. It was infuriatingly hot, but it was also...chilling. And you weren’t used to feeling that way about him. Not about Sammy. He nodded, looking past you toward the door his brother would be marching the scum through in an hour or less. There was murder in his eyes. 

“Oh no, we’ll manage him,” he confirmed, promise in his tone. You bit your lip and caught his hand, blood still lazily dripping from his little cut as you forced him to be still a moment. 

“Hey. Let me get this fixed, okay? They’ll be here soon enough.” 

There was the set of that jaw, the roll of his shoulders...but he let you run his big hand under the faucet, the cold water washing away the blood and stopping anymore from coming. He might be calming down for the moment, but you could still feel the heat just under the surface. God help Nick if your Sam met him like this. Or...maybe not God, but...you get the idea. 

Either Dean didn’t bother to text you until they were well on the road, or he sped like a bat out of hell -both very plausible possibilities- because it was nowhere close to an hour later when the forray party returned with Nick in tow. You tried to get to Sam before he could see them, do damage control ahead of time...but it was too late. It was like watching a slow-motion movie. Before anyone could move, Sam was on Nick with a fire and violence that shocked you, even for Sam. His fighting style was normally powerful but smooth and coordinated; this was purely driven by rage. It took Dean practically shoving himself between the two and actively ripping Sammy off of the prisoner to save Nick’s sorry life. 

“Sammy! Stop it! Stop it, we need him alive. We have to talk to him, find out where he’s got Donny holed up.”

Sam started toward him again. 

“Oh yeah. Let’s talk.”

“Sam! I think you should sit this one out.”

“What?”

“You heard me. We need information to save Donny, and the way you are right now, if Nick even looks at you wrong, you’ll waste him. Why don’t you let me handle this one, okay man? I got it.” Dean’s hand didn’t leave Sam’s chest the whole time, wary and ready for another spring, but Sam clenched his jaw and left. You noticed Nick staring at you, ignoring the chaos around him completely...you made yourself scarce. Dean was right, He needed to handle this one. 

You found your way to the gun range. There was something really satisfying about firing guns when you were angry, but something very calming about taking them apart and cleaning them when you were anxious. You laid out a few of the handguns you kept down there on the loading counter and fetched the box of oil and rags from one of the lockers. You were quietly humming “Good Ol’ Boys” from the Dukes of Hazzard as you worked; some bar over the last few nights had been playing it and it had been stuck in your head since then. You didn’t mind though, you kinda liked it. 

You realized you’d forgotten one of the rods from the cleaning kit and crossed the space to the lockers, rummaging through the box of gun extras and ear-plugs looking for it. The door slamming behind you made you jump and whirl, the half-disassembled pistol in your hand at the ready in seconds flat, pointed right in Sam’s face. He grabbed your wrist and slammed it back against the lockers with a resounding clang, causing you to drop the gun in surprise. It didn’t hurt that bad, but it definitely took you off guard. 

And the next moment -what was happening? His mouth was grinding against yours almost painfully and the hand not holding you pinned to the locker doors was tearing at your jeans zipper. Holy Chuck, he was going to take you against the wall. You froze at the realization but at the same time, felt your body flood with a rush of heat that spilled right out into your panties milliseconds before he ripped them down to join your jeans between your knees. He was panting, his shoulders heaving with harsh, frustrated breaths, anger radiating from him. Not with you, but anger that needed to come off just the same. His lips were set in that firm, thin, determined line, his eyes fiery under the fringe of hair that had fallen forward into his face. 

He pulled back from the kiss long enough to free himself from his pants, but before you could find breath to utter a word, he was already ramming up into you with a force that took your breath away. His speed, his ravaging, merciless power...you panted and moaned, your whole body jerking with his thrusts as you felt your hips being slammed repeatedly against the lockers at your back. You wondered for a split, disjointed moment if you were going to have bruises back there from this. 

And then suddenly he was yanking you away from the lockers, his cock sliding out as he spun you around and bent you over the loading counter, thrusting right back in and pounding you to blow your mind from behind. Your body rocking on the counter hit the remote for the targets; one began to move on the track, and without stopping his violent rhythm, Sam snatched a gun from the counter by your head and emptied the clip into the head of the moving target. 

When he tossed the gun back down, discarding it, the first sound escaped him other than whistling breath between clenched teeth. He moaned, leaning forward over you, his thrusts somehow growing deeper...harder...but more deliberate. Spaced further apart, so you could feel each and every one. And so could he. Every one brought a cry from your lips; you couldn’t help it. Never mind that you were in a completely public place and Cas or Mary or -Chuck help you both- Jack could walk in at any moment. 

He came with a sound you had never heard from him yet; a primal sort of guttural roar as his body tensed up, his abs rock hard against your back. You felt his release, scalding hot with his anger and energy, ejecting into you with a force comparable to the vehemence of the whole ordeal, and you gave a shuddering moan, orgasming in response. He stood bent over you, panting for a moment, and then Dean’s voice filtered through the corridors of the bunker. 

“SAMMAY?”

Sam straightened, pulling out and stuffing himself back away without a comment, running a hand back through his hair as he caught his breath. 

“Yeah Dean?”

“Get your ass up here. Donny doesn’t have much time!”

Sam glanced at you, snatching up one of the clean, unused gun-cloths to wipe the sheen of sweat from his face. He tossed one to you to do the same. You were weak in the knees, but that had just happened and the moment was past. He was calmer, Donny needed helping. You would process this all later. He gave you a once-over. 

“You ok?”

“Y-yeah. Chuck...dammit Sammy, yeah,” you answered breathlessly, still in awe. He nodded once. 

“Then we have work to do.” 

THE END


End file.
